


someone you loved

by norvina



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Headmaster!Kane, Hogwarts, Soul Bond, Triwizard Tournament, professor!bellamy, professor!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norvina/pseuds/norvina
Summary: Clarke Griffin exiled herself to a muggle town aptly named Griffin's End. What happens when Headmaster Marcus Kane tracks her down to fulfill a position at Hogwarts?Bellamy and Clarke are soul-bonded but they broke up two years prior.





	1. Introductions & Favors

The muggles in Griffin’s End didn’t hear the loud _pop _over the sound of rock music and the unabashed tomfoolery of an eventful Saturday night. Even if they had, they wouldn’t have known the significance—let alone thought it was _magic. _But Clarke Griffin, who was smoking a cheap cigarette outside of the Snake’s Den Bar & Grill, not only heard it but recognized it with a quickness only a well-trained witch could.

“Fuck me,” Clarke muttered, seeming to forget all the years of rigorous etiquette training her mother put her through. Although, it should be noted that her mother wouldn’t think too highly of her only daughter working as a bartender in a muggle-dominated town, either. It would be a scandal in Clarke’s former high society social crowd.

It wouldn’t be the first that involved Clarke, though. Her mother was quite used to disappointment.

The blonde ducked into the bar, disregarding the half-smoked cigarette in her haste. A part of Clarke was begging the universe to take it easy on her, the other part was fully aware that a witch or wizard would only visit Griffin’s End if he or she was looking for her. Apart from being founded by her great-uncle, who had a sea of bad luck (hence the name), there wasn’t anything magical about Griffin’s End.

It was a bloody nightmare to find by muggle standards, even harder to find if you were a witch or wizard because of its entirely muggle population and the wards she put up when she moved. Clarke only knew about it from her genealogy lessons, and it's existence was brushed over as smudge on the Griffin name by her late grandmother.

It’s less-than-desirable location was why she decided to move to the wretched little town in the first place. Clarke didn’t want to be found. She didn’t want to be bothered. Clarke just wanted to live and die with marginal acknowledgment from the magical world. For the last two years, it had been her upmost goal to live a life that no one cared about, no matter how submissive and sad it was.

And she lived a life well-below her potential fairly well. Clarke resided in the studio flat above the bar and she taught a beginner’s art class every Tuesday and Thursday at the run-down church. Clarke never dated anyone, and she didn’t have any friends that extended past casual work gossip and the occasional baby shower (other than the single pen-pal she kept from school). Everything she did was in deep contrast to the passionate life that she once lived, which seemed borderline unrealistic as time went on. Clarke was starting to think she had invented places like Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. 

There was a time when she was different. It’s as simple as that. There was a time when Clarke Griffin was different. A time when she wouldn’t be so blatantly running from magic.

Clarke was looking for the bar’s manager, wondering how she could fake an illness on such short notice when a familiar face broke through the crowd. The smile on his face told her that there was no use in hiding—she had been seen.

Marcus Kane was an old family friend and one of her favorite professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts when she was a student but was promoted to Headmaster just weeks after her graduation and disappearance act. Clarke couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that he was the one to find her, that he was the one that came looking for her, but she shoved it down deep like always.

Kane, as he preferred to be called, looked much older than he had just two years ago. His hair was five inches longer than she had ever seen it. There were spackles of grey in his overgrown beard. The fine lines that had always graced his face now seemed deeper, more set in their ways. Apparently, being Headmaster hadn’t aged him well.

Clarke turned her back on him and walked to the bar. Her eyes were wide, purely out of shock. Yet, by the time she was safely behind the bar and he had taken a seat in front of her, she looked collected and calm as if he had announced his visit and she was greeting any other patron. His presence had gained attention from the locals. Mostly because no one ever came here and because he was wearing a very nice suit. She counted herself lucky that he hadn’t donned the traditional wizarding robes, something elders often did.

“Hello, this is an interesting place, isn’t it?” He breathed and Clarke found it rather ridiculous that those were the first words he had chosen to say. As he sat in front of her with his twinkling eyes and irritatingly informal attitude, her perfect composure started to crack. Kane sighed, taking her in, “I haven’t come here to question you, Clarke.”

“Why, though?” Clarke shrugged, feeling like a spoiled child. Despite not wanting to be found, maybe a part of her always hoped that someone from her past would track her down and demand some damn answers. Not because she craved attention or wanted her ego stroked, but because a part of her wanted to feel missed and wanted. Then again, those weren’t exactly actions she wanted from Kane.

“Because I’m not the one you want to ask them.” Marcus said knowingly, pausing only to add in a regretful tone, “Clarke, he’s—”

Clarke raised a hand to cut him off because whatever the end of that statement was, it was something that she wasn’t prepared to hear, yet. A sad smile, one that she didn’t mean, crept on her face, “I think I already know everything he is…” She swallowed thickly, and then regained herself, “If you’re not here to question me, then I’m confused on why you felt the need to make the trip.” _And how you even knew where I was in the first place. _

“Straight to it, then.” Marcus straightened up in a way that could only be described as excitement. All pretenses had vanished, it was clear that Marcus Kane needed something from her. The problem was, she had very little to give. Especially if it was an alumna donation because damn, was she broke (if she wasn’t counting the very large trust fund locked in a vault in Gringotts). “We’re a professor short and I’m looking to fill the position.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Clarke asked, not thinking very deep on the matter. If Marcus Kane wanted a recommendation, then she was the last person on Earth that could provide a decent one. Clarke was clearly out of the loop on the subject of magical education. Quite frankly, she hadn’t taken the basic core classes seriously when she was a student due to the fact she had a slew of private tutors since she was four. Another look at Kane, though, she knew what he was hinting at.

Clarke snorted, “Oh, Merlin, no.”

It was truly a laughable matter that the Headmaster of Hogwarts and a man that had personally given Clarke detention no less than twelve times during her time at school, was now asking her to be a professor. Kane wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding his disappointment, though. He seemed to believe that Clarke would be eager.

Maybe he thought he was offering her an olive branch.

“I’ve never expressed any desire to be a professor, you know that.” Clarke said, trying to diffuse the situation.

Kane, now feeling rejected, retorted, “Yes, as I remember it, your life’s ambition was to be an Auror. Clearly, plans change. Evolve, even.”

Clarke frowned.

Kane hummed, “You would be an asset to Hogwarts at this time.”

She rolled her eyes, “I _highly _doubt it. I’m pretty sure you’re still rebuilding from the last time I tried to help Hogwarts.”

The headmaster wasn’t pleased with her commentary at all. He actually looked quite offended, “You did help Hogwarts. You helped our entire world and we all still owe you a debt from your sacrifices—and at such a young age.”

“I don’t need reminding.”

“I think you do.” Kane leaned in closer to her in an attempt to shield the conversation from curious muggles. “Dante Wallace was a very bad man—”

Clarke hissed, “I know what he was.”

“—and he deserved what he got, Clarke. He was hurting children for personal gain and you defeated him after a very long and dark reign. Everyone knows that you did what had to be done. It was for the best.”

“Professor, you and I both know that people always end up dead when I help. There’s…there’s something wrong with me. I wasn’t born out of goodness. I wasn’t given abilities that yield goodness.” Clarke’s voice was low and watery as she tried to push back memories that she rarely drudged up. “It was a fool’s wish or a fool’s errand that brought you here tonight.”

“Maybe you’re right…but I know that Hogwarts needs someone with your abilities for the upcoming year. Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament.” Kane didn’t look exceptionally thrilled that the tournament was being held again. Clarke knew that it carried awful luck, and someone always ended up dead one way or another. Plus, there always seemed to be an irresponsible amount of PTSD amongst champions that no one ever liked to talk about due to the fact it was such a muggle notion. “I’m surprised your _friend _hasn’t informed you.”

_Of course._

“Roan told you where I am.” Clarke nodded, “Of course, never trust a snake.”

Clarke herself was a Slytherin, but she liked to blame the housing assignment on Roan’s pure ambition to be a git. Roan was her only contact in the magical world. He also happened to be her ex-lover, but that was a matter of fire whiskey, desperation, and poor choices. Although she hasn’t seen him since she left, they communicated twice a month via owl. He told her about his travels and his decision to become a dragon trainer after a bit of soul searching and she told him of her nightmares and regrets.

“If it makes you feel any better, he did not give up the information easily.” Kane smirked, “But since he is now employed by Hogwarts, it was in his best interest to give it up.”

“Roan is working at Hogwarts?”

“A temporary assignment. Dragons are going to play a key part in this year’s tournament. In more ways than one.” Kane shrugged in an attempt to act unbothered, but it was clear he was baiting her. “Naturally, I’ll tell you more when you accept the position.”

Clarke didn’t want to appear as if he was wearing her down, but she gave in anyway, “What position, exactly?”

“Care of Magical Creatures.” Kane said, “You’ll be working very closely with our dragon trainers seeing as you speak and understand the language, as well as the language of all magical creatures including parseltongue.”

It was a gift that she was born with, one that her mother was most proud of but her father found a wee bit terrifying. Clarke also had some other tricks up her sleeves, other than an extremely strong magical core. It was true, even if she didn’t like admitting it, that she was one of the most powerful witches that ever existed. But Clarke reminded herself, and others, that she was born with these abilities—they weren’t a skill that she progressed over time. If she hadn’t been born with the ability to understand creatures, or the ability to change her appearance on a whim (something she never did because it disgusted her mother so heavily in her youth), she wouldn’t be much of anything.

Other than an Animagus, but that was on a dare. The ability to transform into a snowy white Persian cat didn’t do much for anyone.

“The Ministry is trying to entertain, not protect. Given the difficulty of the tasks, I would feel more at ease if someone was there that could truly intervene without harming both student and creature.”

He smiled after he said the words because he knew that he had her.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”


	2. Misfits & Memories

Chapter 2:

Clarke exchanged many owls with Marcus Kane after she accepted the position as Care of Magical Creatures professor. There were, in fact, many rudimentary steps to formulating a comprehensive curriculum—all in which Clarke took a little _too _seriously because of the constant lump in her throat. Clarke was also required to teach a few classes with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Kane hadn’t made a new appointment yet after the quick retirement of his successor. Clarke just hoped whoever took the position wasn’t a complete idiot.

Clarke also had to help train the Hogwarts champion _without _giving too much away. Kane had off-handedly mentioned that it would be a group effort but never specified on who the group would be. It was also Kane’s expectation that Roan and she would start a club based on creature safety, defense, and care.

Roan’s assignment was essentially the first clue, but he was meant to educate and recruit as well. According to Roan’s letters, he wasn’t too pleased about leaving Romania or teaching at Hogwarts. He hadn’t given much thought to the curriculum he planned to present, but Clarke knew that his course was an elective for those interested in dangerous magical creatures and the reason that Kane expected her to intervene when necessary and help. The elective wasn’t available for students under the age of sixteen, thank Merlin, but didn’t exclude student’s that hadn’t progressed to N.E.W.T. level Creature Care.

She expected a few injuries, but would it be a tournament year without them?

The amount of effort she was putting into planning classes was just a distraction. Clarke didn’t want to think about moving back into the wizarding world where people would question whether her actions were right or not. Clarke also didn’t want to conform back to the standards her mother expected of her, but it seemed like an impossibility not to become that woman in some form. Only because she was going to be a role-model to young minds, not because she planned to become _Lady Griffin_ again.

Clarke had packed all her belongings the muggle way, feeling that it would be cheating to give up her anti-magic stance before she left Griffin’s End. Clarke didn’t own much that she was willing to take with her. Her television would be useless, and she didn’t need the squeaky full-sized bed anymore. Clarke also didn’t need her microwave safe plastic dishes or silverware, either. She hadn’t decided whether or not to donate her clothes yet, but she figured once she returned to Hogwarts and slid into the position of Professor, she would no longer feel an attachment to her band t-shirts and crop tops (a sign of her youth, really.) Under everything, she did have a few perfectly preserved dresses and outfits left from her days as a socialite that she could add to her professional wardrobe.

Every time she thought about returning, something tugged hard in her mind. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that she was finally going crazy, and maybe she would have preferred that given the alternative. Clarke was stressed out, and in turn, her occlumency was slipping. It wasn’t the first time—she’d had a few slips whenever she got extremely lonely or pissed off. It wasn’t exactly something she could control all the time. Unfortunately, it seemed to be slipping more and more these days. Clarke would be standing over a box of memorabilia and suddenly feel emotions that weren’t hers. She would always close her mind as soon as possible, hoping the person on the other side never noticed she was eavesdropping, but it was difficult.

In the week before she was meant to leave for Hogwarts, she had more than one dream that wasn’t her own. Those were the nights when she hardly slept at all, fearful that she would so easily slip back in and never be able to pull herself out. It wasn’t easy being bonded with someone that hated you.

Clarke sat down on the kitchen chair that she planned to leave behind and pulled out a cigarette. The items that she planned to take with her were safely concealed in a satchel that her great-aunt had gifted her one Christmas. It had an extension charm on it that was supposed to help Clarke carry her books to class. She lit the cigarette and leaned back, trying not to think about anything important but her mind wandered to _him. _

Clarke remembers the day everything changed for her like it was yesterday—mostly because three years isn’t that long to look back on. Clarke was in her sixth year at Hogwarts. It was right before the term ended.

_Clarke was laying with her head on his thigh by the Black Lake. It was a sunny afternoon and Bellamy—her first and only boyfriend—was supposed to be having lunch with his step-father, Marcus Kane. Instead, he had used the meeting as an excuse to spend time with her right under their former Headmaster’s nose. Bellamy was eighteen and graduated Hogwarts the year before. He had immediately signed up for Auror training, something he was immensely proud of himself for. _

_Unfortunately, Clarke spent most of her time terrified that Ministry officials would come to school and tell her Bellamy was dead just as they had told her months prior that her father had been murdered by the notorious and elusive, Dante Wallace, for standing against the pure-blood, racist asshole. _

_Bellamy had just stopped talking about the Ministry’s new precautions, something that he hoped would stop Clarke from worrying so much, when he said, “After all this is over, I think I might just marry you, Griffin.” He said things like that often enough that the novelty had worn off just a smidge. Of course, it never stopped her heart from nearly beating out of her chest. _

_She joked, “Why on Earth would you ever do that?” But, maybe a little bit of her wondered why he would ever want to marry someone like her. Bellamy was considered a good person while she was regarded as a danger. Clarke had abilities others couldn’t understand and people often said that she was meant to do something great, although because she was a Slytherin, most assumed that it meant great evil. _

_“Because I can’t see how I could ever want anything more,” Bellamy answered confidently, running his long fingers through her hair. He couldn’t have known it then, but he was lying. He would want something more one day. “I love—” _

_“Bellamy! Clarke!” They heard Marcus yelling from the pathway to the lake. _

_Clarke sighed, “Uh oh, he’s pissed you stood him up.” _

_But when she looked back at Kane, he didn’t seem pissed. He seemed highly concerned. Bellamy and Clarke stood up immediately. Clarke straightened her skirt and tried to make it seem like she hadn’t spent the better part of the afternoon making out with his step-son. Kane didn’t seem to give a damn how the two looked, instead, he spoke urgently, “We’ve got it on good information that Dante Wallace is on his way here. We’ve got to protect the castle. Clarke, you’re underage, your mother—”_

_“I’m staying if Bellamy’s staying,” Clarke said stubbornly, grasping the situation for what it was. Her motivations didn’t purely lie with making sure that her boyfriend was okay, though. Clarke wanted to avenge her father and she hadn’t been quiet about it at all _

_“That’s really not an option.” Kane leveled with her, “You’re sixteen, Clarke. I know that your training is far advanced than your classmates, but it’s a matter of age and liability here.”_

_Clarke shook her head, “You need me and you know it. I won’t leave. If you send me away, I’ll apparate back. You know I can do it.”_

_Marcus squeezed the bridge of his nose, “Bellamy, can you please talk some sense into her?”_

_“I think we both know it won’t work.” Although Bellamy didn’t look too pleased with the idea, he knew her better than anyone. _

Clarke shook her head, trying to pull herself out of the memory. She had avoided thinking about the details of that day since it happened, but she often remembered that moment. The last moment that her life was mostly normal (besides a mass murderer being on the loose).

Dante Wallace came, and he brought the most vicious of creatures with him. Dementors. Giants. The type of creatures that had been subjugated to hiding their existence and living half-lives. Wallace killed many people to get what he wanted: her. He had always wanted her, although it’s still unsure why beyond the fact that she had power.

Wallace killed her best friend—Wells Jaha. The first friend that she had ever had and the one she blamed consistently for the death of her father because of who his father happened to be. They had just made up two weeks prior after she realized what an idiot she had been. And then, suddenly, he was gone.

In retaliation, Clarke killed Wallace. It wasn’t that simple. There were a lot of other people to get through, but eventually, she found him in the crowd and took his life just as easily as he had taken everyone else’s. But his death wasn’t the end of the battle. Many creatures were still lurking and looking for victims.

Bellamy was attacked by a dementor that ripped out his soul. The cloaked figure removed Bellamy’s light and Clarke was so panicked that she ripped it back from the creature and tried to restore it. Clarke was screaming and her magic boiled over somehow and she ended up wiping out most of Wallace’s followers and the remaining threats without lifting her wand. For all intents and purposes, Bellamy was dead, and she didn’t know what to do so she cast a spell that she didn’t even remember learning and bound their souls together to repair the damage.

Her wand turned to dust with the force of the spell. 

At first, it was like a magnetic pull and they could hardly separate without succumbing to immense pain. Bellamy was relieved to be alive and he didn’t mind the physical contact or their need to be close together. He liked peering into her mind and feeling her feelings, sharing dreams, and knowing what she was thinking. They didn’t even have to open their mouths to communicate.

And Clarke couldn’t properly mourn everything that she had lost or feel regret for everything that she had taken because she was so relieved that the one person she loved more than anything else in the world was alive and had a soul.

Yet time wasn’t their friend. Eventually, they figured out how to go back to their lives. Clarke returned to Griffin Manor and dealt with her mother’s disappointment while Bellamy resumed Auror training. Once she started to spend time alone again, and the constant distraction of Bellamy’s proximity vanished, Clarke had to face the fact that she had killed people.

People that were loved by others.

People that had families.

Clarke sunk into a deep depression that even the comfort of Bellamy’s mind couldn’t resolve. Her best friend was dead. Her friends from school no longer wrote or returned letters. The Daily Prophet was seriously posing the question of whether she should be “put down now” before she turned into the next Voldemort. Distance weakened the telepathic link, but they could still sense each other’s emotions and she could tell that Bellamy was tired of feeling second-hand despair all the time. Things only got worse when she tried to pretend to be happy because that made Bellamy felt guilty for making her feel like she had to put on the front.

When she returned to school, her guilt had turned to anger. Clarke resented her friends that had abandoned her. Clarke hated any news source that said she was evil. Clarke hated people that believed said news sources—and most of all, she hated when Bellamy tried to read her thoughts and convince her that she was either overreacting or making her situation worse. Clarke knew, even without reading Bellamy’s thoughts (which she tried not to all the time) that the Ministry also viewed her as a threat.

So, when she came home for winter break and Bellamy invited her to a party celebrating his promotion to a second-year cadet, Clarke didn’t want to be there. People were staring at her, whispering about her. Bellamy kept telling her she needed to calm down and enjoy the party but it just made things worse. Eventually, they ended up getting into a mental screaming match that carried on into a verbal one outside of the party.

And he broke up with her. 

Clarke started blocking Bellamy from her mind because she wasn’t exactly a novice at occlumency. She trained and got better as time went on. After a couple of months, she heard that Bellamy moved on and so she did as well. 

With Roan.

A man in which Bellamy abhorred when he was a student. Clarke wanted to make Bellamy angry, she wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her and Roan was nice. Clarke had disliked Roan solely because of Bellamy but things changed under the lens of her broken heart. Clarke's infinite loved turned into freshly minted hate for some time. At least, that's what she thought. Clarke could no sooner hate Bellamy than she could bring back the dead. After Clarke and Roan made their affair well-known, the rumors got worse. People were all too pleased to view her as a pureblood skank with loose morals and questionable friends. It fit the Ministry's agenda. Clarke made the decision to leave the magical world and that’s how she ultimately ended up in Griffin’s End. Clarke equated magic with the absence of peace in her life in the beginning. That's why she snapped her replacement wand the day of her graduation. After six months away from home, she realized that magic had nothing to do with her tragic life-- she was the problem.

Now, she's expected to return tomorrow. Clarke made arrangements to meet with Roan in Diagon Alley, although she suspects Kane put Roan up to the task in the first place. The two would get their last-minute school supplies and Clarke would get a replacement wand and possibly some more clothes.

Clarke found solace in the fact that she would soon be at Hogwarts and not on the streets of London, just waiting to run into the ex that she was still very much in love with. It was up to her to find a new normal, now. Routine and avoidance of serious emotion made it easier for her to block Bellamy out of her mind, and mute his influence on her soul.

xXxXx

Clarke can distinctly remember the day that she received her first wand from Ollivander’s. It was a few days before the Hogwarts term started and she was anxious that all the good wands would be taken. Her father, a man of immense patience, leaned down to meet her worried eyes and said, _“The wand chooses the witch, Clarke. It’s a bond like no other. I promise you that the good ones aren’t taken, yet and I bet your wand has been waiting for you for quite some time.”_ She had smiled a toothy grin and moved forward in the way a child with very little to worry about could.

There was nothing special about her second wand, though. Clarke had chosen it in a time of deep depression and could never make it work properly. Another thing that she was improperly bonded with, in her opinion. She only bought it after trying fifty or so wands because she was so damn desperate to get away from the public eye. Her mother had scolded her for being so impatient, but she could tell that Abigail Griffin also wanted to avoid people that might know her. Most importantly, her mother didn’t want to be seen with her crazy daughter.

Clarke kept her memories to herself as Roan led her into the wandmaker’s store. Roan was currently pretending he wasn’t her babysitter, but it was with little effort and a whole lot of confidence that a few flirtatious remarks would muddy her best judgment. It was an understatement to say that it was nice to see him. Clarke hadn’t realized how much she would miss Roan when she left. At the time, they were mostly fuck buddies with occasional post-coital meaningful chats.

But after she left and he finally figured out what he wanted to do with his life, their friendship transferred into something genuine and needed.

“Absolutely not! Get out, get out _now!_” Ollivander yelled as soon as he saw her in an entirely uncharacteristic way. Unlike Kane, he didn’t seem to have aged at all. Of course, the man always looked ancient. The wand shop was also the same—dusty and filled with untouched boxes containing secrets Clarke’s brilliant mind couldn’t even unravel. He pointed a rigid finger at Clarke, “I won’t give you another to-to-_murder._”

There was a young boy that had followed Roan and Clarke into the store. Clarke turned to see his wide-eyed expression. He was clearly an upcoming first-year looking to purchase a wand but the intensity of Ollivander’s refusal to serve Clarke had frightened him. Clarke decided that in two days, the boy’s fear could be her problem, but until then, she would worry about her own. Roan seemed to be following the same logic because he didn’t offer any explanation or comfort before the kid bolted. 

In all honesty, Clarke felt highly unqualified to be teaching anyone at this point. Her morning was awful and she kept remembering reasons why she should keep living her faux-muggle life. Firstly, she was nineteen years old. When Clarke was in school, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher could have been classified as a long-lost artifact of the cretaceous era. The only positive thought she had was that Roan, although a temporary addition to Hogwarts staff, was only a year older than her. At least they could be unqualified together.  
  
Secondly, her idea of style included paint-stained skinny jeans and band t-shirts. A problem that she’d already considered when she was packing was suddenly hosting parties in her anxious mind. Even now, she was wearing an oversized Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of dark-washed jeans with flecks of orange on the thighs. Not exactly Professor appropriate, which was why her next stop was the robe store (but she still felt hopeless).

Thirdly, she couldn’t very well help with dragons if she didn’t have a wand. How was she supposed to shield anyone? How was she supposed to teach any defensive spells? What would the other professors think if she showed up without a wand?

Clarke rolled her determined blue eyes at Ollivander’s furious demonstrations in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t flipping out inside. Anger didn’t look good on him and Clarke had certainly pissed him off. Unfortunately, her schedule didn’t permit long-winded amends or apologies. Instead, she said, “Oh, get off it. The first one wasn’t even my fault.”

The old man narrowed his eyes at her in a calculating manner. He seemed to take in her posture, her outfit, her tone, and more. He was accustomed, just as many others were, to the charade her mother had forced her to adhere to for most of her life.

He also didn’t seem too fond of her company, but that was because Roan had an awful reputation to most. There were certain groups of people that feared him, but that was okay in Clarke’s mind because there were loads more than feared her. They could be violent, unstable misfits together.

After a few moments, in which Clarke wished she had studied the art of reading minds as well, he finally posed the question she was dreading, “And what became of the second wand?” The man crossed his arms defensively around his body, looking at her as if she should be ashamed…or possibly locked up in Azkaban.

Roan, who would most likely sacrifice a few limbs for a good joke, casually closed the space between the counter and himself in a few strides. Ollivander looked greatly offended by the evasion but Roan didn’t seem to care. He leaned in as he was great friends with the man, “Now, that’s between Clarke and the Giant Squid, Ollie.”

Ollivander’s jaw snapped shut as he processed the information. Eventually, he threw his hands in the air, yelling, “No! No! Absolutely not! I won’t do it!”

Clarke whined, “Thanks so much for your help, Roan.”

He smirked at her in a way only confident bad boys could, saying lowly, “Always.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at his latest attempt to be seductive. Numbing the pain with empty sex wasn’t her thing anymore. She preferred getting blackout drunk and chain-smoking. It hurt a lot less in the morning, both mentally and physically. “Look, I’m a professor now. I need a wand. Give me whatever you got. I don’t care. I’ll pay double, triple even.”

Her words only offended the man more.

Roan leaned in further, now holding an intimidating distance been him and Ollivander. “_Ollie, _do you want Clarke to go to another wandmaker? A witch with her power, with her influence…how bad would it be for business if she saved the world again and was using one of Gregorovitch’s wands instead?”

Ollivander tune abruptly changed, “Alright, alright…I might—considering everything, I might know of a wand that would serve you quite well.” He seemed unsure that he should be saying anything, but Clarke could see a flicker of excitement in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “But you _must _promise to take better care of this one, _Professor _Griffin or an Ollivander will never sell you another wand as long as you shall live.”

“Thank you.” Clarke said, “Now, why would this wand be special?”

“Well, under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t. It would be your average wand, capable of great magic, of course, but average in the large scheme of things.” Ollivander’s voice trailed off as he rummaged through the shelves to find the wand he was looking for. It took him a few minutes and by the time he returned, a few students doing last-minute school supplies shopping had joined Clarke and Roan. “Here we are—maple wood with a phoenix core. A very temperamental core, and quite rare, as I think you know. 12 1/2 inches in length and surprisingly swishy flexibility.”

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked, teeth clenching because she suddenly had to put a lot of focus on her mind barricade.

“Why don’t you try it and tell me if my theory is correct?”

Ollivander extended the wand to her carefully and Clarke took it with the same hesitation. The second her fingers touched the wood, she knew that Ollivander was quite right and finally understood why her replacement wand—which was almost identical to her first wand—hadn’t worked for her.

The wand-maker smiled knowingly, and Clarke tried to fight back the sudden nausea she felt. “Ah, just as I suspected.” He said, “Twin souls, twin wands. A bond like no other. It’ll be the standard rate and I expect you to stick to our agreement.”

Clarke nodded, paying the man just so she could bolt out of the store. Roan followed quickly behind her. At first, he didn’t say anything, but then his curiosity got the best of him. “Bellamy owns the twin, yes?”

She paused at the sound of his name. It had been so long since someone casually said it that it seemed almost unreal that it had flown so eloquently off of Roan’s tongue. Clarke composed herself quickly. It’s all she could do given the situation. “Yes.”

Roan must not have felt like carrying on the conversation, or he had sensed her panic. Either way, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “New robes, right?” Clarke simply nodded and put her wand in her back pocket so they could continue on.

Clarke had visited Gringotts earlier—a rather depressing trip considering she hated her trust fund. Unfortunately, she hadn’t saved much muggle money as a part-time bartender and there was so much that she needed. Most of it, she planned to have delivered via owl post once she returned to Hogwarts. Earlier in the summer, she had assigned this year’s textbook as Newt Scamander's _Fantastic Beast And Where to Find Them _because it focused on compassion—something most creatures deserved. It also focused on respect, which was a necessity around dragons.

Before her visit to the wand-store, she had put in an order for five spare books in case someone lost theirs or if a student simply couldn’t afford it. Clarke hated to see people resent their education because of cost and she had more than enough money to help out here and there.

Clarke also ordered a few spare sets of quills (oh, how she would long for a ballpoint pen) and a couple of new books on magical creatures and defense methods. Roan had given her an odd look, but Clarke had told him that she had a lot to catch up on. She also put in an order for potion ingredients because she liked to brew her own antidotes.

After she successfully purchased some conservative (but surprisingly modern) robes, Roan dragged her to the Leaky Caldron to “calm their nerves.” Clarke decided fairly early into the event that she missed firewhiskey a lot.

xXxXx

“I personally feel like showing up tipsy is definitely the wrong message to send,” Clarke said regretfully after successfully apparating from London to Hogsmeade. Roan couldn’t apparate onto Hogwarts grounds perfectly sober, let alone after a few too many rounds at the Leaky Caldron. Clarke couldn’t fully explain why she had that certain ability, but she often wondered if it extended to other locations that were supposed to be blocked or if she only unlocked Hogwarts’s anti-apparition defenses because it was close to her heart.

It was a stupid thought, one that she wouldn’t be so focused on if the alcohol wasn’t coursing through her veins. Clarke’s cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and she looked vibrant under the moonlight. According to her wristwatch, Clarke and Roan were technically on time. The other professors would most likely already be there, but the welcome-back “mixer” wasn’t supposed to start for another half hour.

Plenty of time for them to walk to the castle and clean up some.

Clarke still hadn’t changed out of her muggle clothes even though that was her original intention. Oh well, her colleagues would have to make do. Hopefully, none of them thought her shirt was a spell. She’s not exactly sure how that would go down.

Roan hiccupped, bringing her back to reality. “_Shit_, you’re only tipsy?”

At least he knew that he was drunk.

“We’re going to get sacked.” Clarke groaned as Roan threw an arm over her shoulders. Clarke’s 80% sure it’s because he can barely support his own weight, but they can pass it off as a friendly gesture if they happen to pass anyone on the path. Physical contact with someone that truly knew her was nice. She could smell the firewhiskey on his breath and even the faint scent of the cigarette she had smoked before they left London. It lingered on his worn leather jacket. 

Her friend hadn’t changed much except for a few tattoos and some interesting burns. Roan’s hair was still long enough to be worn in a man-bun (a trend wizards most definitely brought back in her opinion). He still liked to wear tight leather pants and dark-colored v-necks. The leather jacket was new but she figured he had only put it on to conceal his scars from muggle eyes. Dragon burns weren’t friendly looking.

He was still a sight to behold, although Clarke did not intend to ever go down that path again. He still had a way of making her laugh in the worst situations—by far, her favorite quality.

Roan seemed to smell her hair when he leaned in to comfort her, “Nah, we’ll be fine.”

Clarke pretended she didn’t notice. They walked in silence for a while until Clarke gasped at the sight of the castle. It was also the same, which felt like an insult. Hogwarts was magnificent—a symbol of hope and safety for most people.

Roan slurred something unintelligible and they continued to walk. Eventually, they made it up the back entrance to the Great Hall. Clarke hardly felt like making a grand entrance. It was much better to slip in and try to blend into the background. Outside the doors, Clarke removed Roan’s arm from her shoulders and did her best to make him look presentable. “You’re not drunk,” Clarke said with a smile, trying to will it to be true.

Roan smiled back and hiccupped again, “Oh, I’m drunk.”

“Okay, so new mission. Let’s find seats as soon as possible.”

“That sounds about right,” Roan said and then returned his arm to her shoulders. Clarke rolled her eyes, humored by his stupidity and opened the door slowly. Roan tripped as they walked in on his own feet. Clarke cussed.

Everyone turned to look at them.

Roan straightened up like he had been hit in the face with a bucket of water a second faster than Clarke had. There were some familiar faces in the crowd. Kane, of course, but also some others. People that she used to be friends with before the whole Dante Wallace thing. And then she saw him—or maybe she felt him the whole time and she was too stunned to say anything.

Bellamy Blake.

A very pissed off Bellamy Blake, apparently. He stopped glaring at Roan long enough to glare at Kane. Clarke hadn’t realized her mouth was open until Roan said something that made her jaw snap shut in exasperation: “So, he’s hired all the usual misfits, then?”

And then Clarke fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback, kudos, and bookmarks! I was nervous about this particular story because I feel unqualified writing about Hogwarts. 
> 
> I know this chapter was especially long, so thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments below.


	3. Kane's Partial Truth

The fact that he was staring at Clarke Griffin—albeit, an unconscious Clarke Griffin—meant that the test proctor had been right during his fifth year. Bellamy Blake did not have a talent for Divination. Not at all. Although he knew that he would see her again, mostly because those things tended to happen when the other person held a part of your soul, he didn’t expect it to be _here_.

He could write novels on all the expectations he had concerning Clarke and even more novels on how he’d been wrong.

“Typical.” Raven Reyes, the new Transfiguration Professor, rolled her eyes at Roan and Clarke’s antics. At one point, Raven and Clarke had been good friends, which was odd because they met after they realized they were both dating Finn Collins. For ego purposes, Bellamy had to remind himself that dating was a loose term at 13 and didn’t really mean anything. After Finn died during the second Battle of Hogwarts, Raven cut Clarke out of her life because she needed someone to blame and Clarke was an easy target—so willing to take on all the blame for everything bad, and so unwilling to let herself be happy. Bellamy tried to understand where Raven was coming from, but it was difficult when he knew how much her absence hurt Clarke.

He couldn’t stop himself from casting the brunette a dirty look.

It slipped, sue him.

The emotion of Clarke's return started to sink in, or maybe it was something else entirely. He opened his mouth to say something, but before a conscious thought had formed, he passed out.

(Because Blake’s don’t faint)

xXxXx

_This must be a dream; _Clarke thinks absently because she hasn’t felt this warm in a long time. It’s as if she’s swallowed sunshine. That’s the only way she can truly describe it. Clarke turns into the feeling, able to define it better as she slips out of unconsciousness. Someone is stroking her hair in the most comforting of ways. It reminds her of the times her father used to push back her blonde mane after one of her ludicrous nightmares concerning “body-snatchers”—always the same man, always stealing her body. 

Regardless, if a memory, or a dream, she feels safe and protected. Loved, even. Clarke feels very loved. Then, it’s gone. Clarke tries to cling to it in with sincere desperation. Her thoughts chaotic, but all translating to one plea: _Please, please, don’t leave me. _But it was. It was abandoning her. Clarke’s anger skyrocketed and she started to search for it. Clarke reached further and further because she wanted to feel _happy _again.

She wanted to feel _anything _that went below the surface.

Clarke was about to break down the wall. Her mind was right there and then suddenly, she was aware of what she was doing. Her eyes flew open and she let out a loud, reverberating scream, “NO!” The stone walls around her shook with the force of an earthquake as years of pent up magic overtook her. With a deep sob, Clarke pulled herself together. Her magic snapping back like an elastic band. “No.” She whispered into the darkness one last time defiantly.

“Clarke! Clarke!” She could hear Roan’s concern yells coming down the corridor. Around the same time, the candles relit around her. Clarke was sitting on a cot in the medical wing of Hogwarts. She recognized it in the ways that she could recognize Roan from across a large room. It was familiar. Her head felt like it was splitting in half. Her hands were desperately pressed against her face. Roan was panting by the time he arrived. “Merlin, the whole castle felt that, love. Hey, hey—” He walked around the bed and placed a rough hand on her wrist, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my head.” Clarke tried to say calmly, “What the fuck is going on?”

She couldn’t remember anything significant.

They apparated.

That’s it.

Did something go wrong?

Another voice answered, “You passed out.”

Clarke was still squeezing her eyes closed but she recognized Kane’s voice. He didn’t sound as worried as Roan, but there was an obvious fear in his statement. Roan tried to pull one of her hands from her face, but Clarke couldn’t bare the light.

Roan spoke in a whisper, “At first, I thought it was because of shock, but Nyko thinks it’s…”

_Bellamy, _Clarke thought, and it made her head throb more. Bellamy Blake was here at Hogwarts. He was going to be a professor and she was going to have to see him all the time. Her heart was twisted in confusion. Clarke was happy—god, there was a part of her that was so fucking happy that he was near her. Yet, she was also terrified, and angry, and hurt.

“He should be coming along now. You have quite a pair of lungs.” Kane commented and Clarke wondered if he was meaning to sound so annoying or if it was part of his approach to figure out what had caused such seismic activity.

Roan chuckled, “Yeah, she doe—” She finally removed one of her hands from her face, but only to smack Roan before he could finish his ill-timed sentence.

“Read the room. Merlin, I need an ibuprofen.”

“A what?” Kane asked curiously.

“Medicine. Dammit, I need medicine,” Clarke finally snapped because _fuck Marcus Kane _and his infinitely selfish plans for the universe. She now realized that he had pointedly lied to her all summer, if not in actual words than by omission. He damn well knew that his son would be teaching at Hogwarts. How could he not? Clarke’s stomach turned just thinking about it. How could he not tell her that Bellamy would be here? How could he let her plan lessons and select textbooks and _hope_? Even now, how could he stand over her like he gives a damn about her? If he cared, he would have let her live out her life in Griffin’s End without any interference. 

Another firm shake went through the medical wing, and Clarke hoped that it was confined to the room or else more people would start to poke around. The last thing she needed was the likes of the other professors popping in and asking a series of questions so they could gossip over hot tea tomorrow morning.

Roan took a step away from her—frightened by her.

Kane’s composure was slipping as well, and he looked irritated but also scared. Clarke wondered if he was now thoroughly regretting his staffing decisions. Didn’t he know that she destroyed things? Even thousand-year-old castles. Clarke was panting in fury as she stared at the man. There was so much that she was leaving unsaid.

Things he knew better than anyone because of their pseudo-personal relationship. Although Kane had divorced Bellamy’s erratic mother, he was still present in the Blake siblings’ lives. He had always been present. Clarke had visited his summer home more times than she could count. Not to mention, he had been friends with her parents beforehand. It wasn’t like she was solely glaring daggers at her boss. There was more to it.

Nyko walked into the infirmary, seemingly checking the foundation of the room before he came to stand in front of her. Before the death of her father, Clarke wanted to be a healer. Well, really, she wanted to be normal and healing fell under that category and was “well within her potential if she just _tried harder” _according to her mother. Clarke would volunteer in the medical wing when she wasn’t lying in one of the beds after a brutal Quidditch match. Nyko was her instructor and a rather good one at that.

He gave her a cautious smile, but she couldn’t return it at the moment. Roan was looking at her as if she was going to pass out again. His arms were crossed over his figure, but he pulled it off way better than Ollivander had earlier that day—if it was the same day. Clarke wasn’t sure.

“What seems to be the problem?” Nyko asked and it was clear that he was trying to keep the peace. His tone was calming despite his appearance. Nyko looked absolutely frightening when he wanted to and Clarke always wondered what got him into the field of magical medicine.

Roan spoke for her, “She needs medicine.”

Nyko rolled his eyes, never having much tolerance for Roan in the first place. In his time at Hogwarts, Roan had a problem with dueling and violence. He didn’t like it when people spoke against Slytherin and he hated being classified as a muggle-hater. He also was a fiercely good Quidditch as well. Of course, Clarke didn’t care for him much back then because he was constantly putting her crush in the infirmary. Unlike Clarke, Nyko seemed to be holding a grudge for all the injuries he’s had to heal over the years due to Azgeda pride.

“Again, Miss Griffin, what seems to be the problem?” Nyko asked once again, daring Roan to say something with his black eyes. The older man kneeled down in front of her, only highlighting the Clarke was currently sitting in a hunched over position, legs thrown over one side of the bed as if she was planning to leave at any point.

Roan didn’t get the warning and scoffed, “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Roan.” Kane’s authoritative voice rang throughout the medical wing and Clarke visibly saw Roan straighten up as if he was about to get three weeks of detention.

Clarke sighed, hating all the attention the situation was getting. “I have a headache.”

_An understatement, that is. _

Nyko started feeling her face, most likely trying to diagnose her. Clarke winced with the pressure. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I was escorting—” Nyko looked up at Kane, who shook his head, but only slightly. “Never mind. I believe your basic pain reliever potion will take care of this headache.”

Roan switched his weight from one foot to the other, “But you’re not sure, are you?”

Nyko stood and walked towards the potion’s cabinet. He had to use his wand to unlock it, most likely an attempt to ward off thieves. Roan sat down next to her. Clarke imagined he felt quite useless. Nyko returned, “Here. Take this.”

Clarke knocked it back without reading the label. It tasted awful and it _burned. _A few seconds later, though, the headache had disappeared. Clarke missed magic in that sense. She would have had to destroy her liver to get rid of a headache of this magnitude if she was forcing down pills. Clarke didn’t say this out loud. Instead, she said, “What time is it? How long have I been out?”

Kane seemed to be leading conversation now that she seemed to be better. “Three hours.”

“And it wasn’t a reaction to all the—” Roan did an impression of someone taking shots, which gained a smile from her but an eye roll from the headmaster. Clarke wasn’t sure how Kane had even come to the conclusion to hire Roan. He was quite unpredictable, highly inappropriate and not the general making for a professor. Plus, Kane didn’t seem to care for Roan very much. Roan chuckle, “But we can always pretend it was.”

Nyko pressed her face again, seemingly satisfied with the results. Clarke whispered, more to him than anyone, “It was the bond, wasn’t it?” Nyko had been the one to help Bellamy and Clarke post-bonding. Bellamy was in way worse shape than her because his soul had been ripped out to the point where it shouldn’t have been rejoined to his body. It was beaten up. Broken. Clarke had assumed some of that brokenness when she mixed their souls, but she wore pain better.

Or maybe she was too numb by that point.

“Yes,” Nyko confirmed and Clarke sucked in a deep breath. Roan squeezed her hand reassuringly. She hated talking about the bond as if it was a sickness or a disease. She was sure some would find it rather romantic. A part of her still did.

“Was I the only one affected?” Clarke asked, her hesitance evident in the slowness of her voice.

Roan was the one who answered, “No, but you were far more graceful.”

Kane supplied better answers, much to Clarke’s chagrin. “Professor Blake is fine. He woke up only moments before you. As to avoid any awkwardness, I sent him to his quarters. He was not in any pain.” Clarke was fully aware that her headache had stemmed from her attempt to break into his mind. Bellamy had improved greatly at occlumency—not that it had helped much for either of them.

Clarke expected things to get a lot harder over the next year.

“You’ve been away too long. I’ve done my reading over the years…your case fascinated me, as you know. The first one in such a long time—soul-bonds are hard enough to maintain with constant contact. Touch, for instance. Bellamy and you have bushed the boundaries farther than anyone else. You’re lucky you aren’t dead. You’re lucky he isn’t dead.” Nyko was getting increasingly aggravated with each word. He was both expressing his worry as well as stating how idiotic the pair had been. “Don’t worry, Miss Griffin, he has received the same lecture. Ten-fold.”

“As he deserves,” Roan mumbled. Clarke knew this type of conversation made Roan uncomfortable, but not for the reasons most would suspect. Roan loved Clarke as a dear friend and lusted after her as most men would. They were not the same thing. Roan and Clarke sought mutual pleasure in each other in the past, but it was not out of a deep romantic bond and it didn’t mean much of anything afterward. Their friendship did mean something, though. It meant he would protect her, fight for her, comfort her, and just be there whenever she needed him. It meant she would do the same. And Bellamy threatened that friendship on every level. Roan feared that Clarke would no longer need or want him if they stopped blocking each other and resumed their relationship.

He’s said it to her in the past, not all at once, but Clarke could translate.

She hated seeing Roan conflicted and she very much blamed Kane. Clarke turned to the man, “I should resign right now.” It was a simple statement, one the group of men seemed to be anticipating. Her word choice didn’t go over anyone’s head, though. Clarke didn’t plan on going anywhere. How could she?

Kane nodded, “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.”

Clarke knew that was untrue. Kane would most likely guilt trip her until the moment she stepped off school grounds. It wasn’t in his nature to let things go and Clarke had a good case to prove it as he’s hired most of her old friends and her ex in an attempt to manipulate their lives, never mind that they were all separately brilliant. Kane never made decisions without a plan, Clarke just hadn’t known the scope of it when she accepted the job. Clarke didn’t break eye contact when she said, “You lied to me. What game are you playing, huh? I was fine. My life was fine.”

_You’re lying. _

Kane didn’t say anything for a full minute. Clarke watched as his features changed. He dropped the headmaster façade fairly quickly, but he seemed to be struggling to find another mask. Finally, he decided to be himself without holding back. The disappointment and anger that she had looked for when he arrived at The Snake’s Den appeared at last. “Your life was fractured. A half-life, at best. You were living beneath your potential and beneath _your responsibility to this world_ out of _fear _and out of _rejection _and your father would have been disappointed with your choices because he gave everything he had to make sure you didn’t reject your destiny.” He cast a glare at Roan, silencing the man before he could chime in.

At first, Clarke wanted to hurt him. A spell didn’t even cross her mind at first. She was too used to not relying on magic. Instead, she wanted to punch him repeatedly until he knew not to mention Jake Griffin to her again. Clarke knew that her father had sacrificed more than his actual life to give her a solid education and training that she would have never received at Hogwarts. Clarke _knew_, okay? She knew that Dante Wallace had wanted _her. _She knew that her father was dead because he wanted her to be able to live.

Clarke found herself speaking before her brain caught up with everything, “I don’t belong here. I’m too young to be a professor. No one wants me here, especially Bellamy. Maybe I do owe the world something else, but I’ve sacrificed a lot already. I’m not fucking Harry Potter, here. I’m not the chosen one.”

Kane sighed, “Clarke, one day you’re going to quit hiding from the truth. Regardless, I want you here. Unlike my predecessors, I’m not an ageist. You’ve got gifts that people haven’t possessed in hundreds of years. Maybe thousands. You _do _very much belong here, teaching the next generation.”

“I agree with him,” Roan says, surprisingly Clarke. “Not the part about you being a disappointment because only an asshole would say that, but I am happy you’re here.”

Nyko shrugs, “I’m neutral.”

“No one asked you, dick.” Roan growled.

“_Professor _Azgeda.” Kane scolded, “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night. Clarke, you can go to your quarters to rest, I assume. Roan, if you will lead her. Nyko and I have much to discuss. As a reminder, students arrive tomorrow. We will discuss schedules for rounds at breakfast and then you will be free to plan accordingly.”

Clarke isn’t done with her conversation with Kane, but she would prefer it if there weren’t witnesses. She nods her head in agreement, exiting with Roan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to everyone's comments! Thanks again for all the support on this fic. 
> 
> What are some things you hope happens?  
How does everyone feel about Bellamy?


	4. Welcomed Returns

Chapter 4:

Headmaster Kane was deep in thought as he walked the corridors, so much so that he did not return a single greeting from eager paintings. There were a few scoffs in response, but he either did not hear or chose to ignore them. Kane was trapped in his memories, being swallowed by his growing list of regrets. Clarke Griffin’s scream was reverberating around his brilliant mind, pulling at moments that he would rather forget completely. He longed for ignorance because that would make the situation easier for him. 

Kane stopped in front of the large gargoyle, not even aware that he had walked to the seventh floor. He whispered the password out of habit, although the guard recognized him, “My Father’s Joy.” 

As he stepped further into his rather cluttered office, he noticed that he was not alone. Bellamy looked pitiful in ways that Kane had not seen in many years. His hair was wild, giving Kane the impression that Bellamy had spent all this time nervously running his fingers through it like a child fingering at a safety blanket. Bellamy’s carefully pressed dress shirt was now rolled up to his elbows and his wand was carelessly sticking out of the back pocket of his gray slacks—something he had been trained against when he was an Auror.

He was upstairs, looking out the window in dead silence. Kane was reminded of how young the man was by his unwound appearance.

“I should have known you’d be here.” Kane’s words fall flat as he moves closer to get a better look. There was a bottle—not a glass—of scotch in Bellamy’s hand and he seemed maddened with feelings that he had not allowed himself to have in many moons. More than anything, he was vulnerable. Kane knew that he deserved every bad-tempered comment Bellamy was bound to give him.

Bellamy did not speak for some time, not wanting to be betrayed by his wavering voice. The Headmaster, who was meant to have all the answers, did not know what to do. He climbed the small staircase to the top of his office and waited for Bellamy to communicate in some way. It was rather humbling. When Bellamy finally spoke, his words were filled with cynicism and a hint of an Irish accent he tried to bury under years of conformity, “I guess I should be comforted by the fact that she seemed just as shocked as me.”

“I would not expect you to be able to find comfort so quickly.”

Bellamy turned around to face him, looking as if Kane had struck him. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of resentment. A wise man would be afraid of him, but tonight, Kane was not a wise man. He did not have many answers or pockets of advice. He was a concerned father and a shamed man. “What would you expect of me, then?” Bellamy asks, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to conceal the real words he wanted to scream.

Kane does not say anything, which only makes the room tenser.

Bellamy closes his eyes firmly and whips around to face the windows again. Kane can see his reflection on the glass but pretends otherwise. He does not watch as tears slip down Bellamy’s face. Kane knows that he can make the situation better for Bellamy, but there would be a great cost. Bellamy is not seeking emotional warmth from Kane. He is not looking for parental relief. Bellamy seeks the truth, and that’s just not something he can have at the moment. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not even the next. 

Bellamy finally settles on a question he can ask without falling apart, “Why did you hire Roan Azgeda?” Bellamy’s tone is sharp and filled with emotion that Kane can easily identify; jealousy. 

“He’s qualified.”

Bellamy tenses, “He’s arrogant, irresponsible—clearly, he has a drinking problem.” Kane did not point out the irony of the situation. “There are other dragon trainers out there. Oh, don’t look surprised, I know what he does.” It seems that Bellamy did not need to be reminded of the properties of glass. He takes a short sip from the bottle and sharply concludes, “You knew that she wouldn’t come if she didn’t have someone in her corner.”

Kane is suddenly reminded that Bellamy is an expert interrogator, having been trained by some of the brightest (and most arrogant) minds in the world.

“You hired her for a purpose. You’re using her—me, even Roan.”

He sighs, “I can’t tell you yet.”

Bellamy speaks so quickly he doesn’t have time to process his mistake, “If it concerns Clarke, it concerns me.”

“The last time I checked, you made it perfectly clear that you and Clarke were not a package deal,” Kane says because yes, everyone is correct, he is an asshole. Bellamy looks like he’s ready to break something and Kane’s meeting his glare in the window. “I saw you in the infirmary with her. You still love her.”

“Forever.”

xXxXx

Clarke considered breakfast cruel and unusual punishment after she humiliated herself last night. Despite her evaluation, she woke up earlier than necessary to choose an outfit. Clarke favored an emerald green dress with quarter length sleeves that fanned out into beautiful, loose ruffles that stopped just below the knee. The dress had a lovely bow on the side to give the illusion that it wrapped around like a robe. Unfortunately, it was too impractical for the tasks she had planned for the day, even if she would look stunning.

The other outfit that she was vaguely reminiscent of the uniforms female Durmstang students had to wear, except that instead of the god-awful red, her pants were a light tan color and her shirt was a deep emerald green (because she was a Slytherin, duh). The tan leather pants were tight, hugging her desirable curves. They were spelled to never tear or fade—a requirement for her line of work. The rest of her outfit was modest. The shirt concealed everything from the jawline down, including her arms; a necessity seeing as she planned to spend the day in the Forbidden Forest.

Clarke wasted too much time contemplating her outfit choice, so she caved and used magic to pull herself together. She spelled her hair into a perfect bun and even managed to do her makeup with a flick of her wand (something she had missed very much).

A few seconds after she slipped on her knee-length black boots, she heard a soft knock. Clarke opened the door to her quarters with a huff, stowing her wand in her left boot, only to find Roan smiling down at her. He peered into the living room and grumbled just as he had done the night before.

Clarke’s quarters surpassed Roan’s in nearly every category. Clarke’s place was bigger, with a living room, bedroom, dining room, and bathroom. Everything was decorated in tones of emerald green, silver, and black. Her bedroom looked like it belonged to royalty with its queen-sized bed covered by a thick, emerald green comforter with the Slytherin emblem embroidered on the center. The living room looked dark and inviting to anyone that had lived in the Slytherin common room for 7 years. Roan had said that his quarters looked like a shack in comparison to hers and that he would hate to see how extravagant Slytherin’s Head of House’s quarters were in comparison.

Eventually, he stopped complaining long enough to say, “I didn’t think you would want to walk alone.” Clarke smiled at him and then let out a low laugh at his outfit. They seemed to have inadvertently coordinated, although Roan’s attire was also typical for someone in his profession. When Roan noticed, he smiled as well, “You need to stop stealing my signature look, Griffin. It’s a little pathetic.”

“As if.” Clarke snorted, shoving him out of her way as she exited her room. “I’m going to the forest later to hopefully find some unicorns.”

Roan rolled his eyes as they started to walk side by side, “You’re really going to play the unicorn card to gain favoritism?”

“It’s a classic and you know it.” Clarke tried to justify but Roan looked thoroughly unimpressed with her first lesson plan. “Unicorns were my favorite introductory creature.”

“Because you were a 13-year-old girl. Of course, the unicorns were your favorite.”

Clarke and Roan bickered about the pros and cons of unicorns for the rest of their walk to The Great Hall. Once they arrived, Clarke noticed that it was being decorated by house-elves. Much to her relief, the other professors were sitting at their house tables instead of the intimidating staff table at the head of the room. Kane was nowhere to be found just yet. Even in her exhausted state the night before, she had begged Roan to fill her in on who was on staff so she wouldn’t be so surprised.

Jasper Jordan (Potions) and Monty Greene (Herbology) sat together at the Hufflepuff table. Clarke had once been good friends with Jasper, but he blamed her for the death of his long-term girlfriend, Maya Vie. Maya had been a follower of Dante Wallace out of fear and familial loyalty. Clarke thought about her often because, for all of her faults, she had been a sweet, compassionate girl that loved Jasper’s awkward jokes. Clarke knew that there were some things that she could not fix and her relationship with Jasper was one of them. Monty and Clarke were neutral towards each other. They had been friendly during their youth and Monty was never cruel to her post-battle.

Raven Reyes (Transfiguration), Charles Pike (Charms), Gustus Woods (Head Librarian) and Nyko Woods (Lead Healer) are sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Raven had been a close friend as well, but she also had grievances against Clarke after experiencing loss and the two never repaired their friendship. Clarke did have more hope for Raven than she did for Jasper, but even that was slim. What could Clarke possibly say to mend things? On the other hand, Charles Pike, or as Clarke referred to him, Professor Pike, had been one of her instructors. Clarke liked him for the most part because he very rarely handed out detentions. On the other hand, Gustus was a pain in Clarke’s ass and frequently gave her detention for being too loud in the library or trying to sneak into the restricted section. Gustus and Nyko were brothers, but hardly overtly friendly to each other.

The Gryffindor table has a competitive amount of people at it including Nathan Miller (History of Magic), Lincoln Woods (Assistant Librarian), Indra Trikru (Flying Coach), and Bellamy Blake (Defense Against the Dark Arts). Nathan, or Miller as he liked to be called when they were in school, is one of Bellamy’s best friends, which is just awkward. Lincoln’s father is Nyko, and he’s overall a good guy that Clarke never had an issue with because he was extremely private—she sincerely doubt that’s changed in such a short time. Indra Trikru liked Clarke because she had talent and “leadership skills” but that was as far as their relationship went. Bellamy is obviously complicated in every sense of the word.

But also tan, gorgeous and making direct eye contact.

Clarke looks away quickly, finding her own table. Clarke’s never seen so many Slytherins on staff, but it helps that the headmaster is also from their noble house (even though he’s a dick). It surprised the hell out of her when Roan told her that John Murphy was now a professor. Clarke didn’t have a single story from her first three years that didn’t involve Murphy and trouble. He’s teaching Muggle Studies, which was a surprise because Murphy is a pureblood just like Clarke. 

Outside of Murphy, Roan, and Clarke, there weren’t any other new hires. Charmaine Diyoza teaching Divination, which, okay, Clarke’s still not sure if she has the gift of “sight” or if she enjoys telling students that they’re going to die, and she’s known the woman since her third year. Clarke’s always suspected the latter. Clarke’s least favorite instructor, Professor Shumway, is sitting at the far end of the table away from the other Slytherins. Even by their sometimes-questionable standards, everyone considered Shumway a bad egg. Clarke’s thoroughly disappointed Kane hasn’t kicked him out on his ass for being a purist at heart.

“Miss Griffin, the cards have told me—” Diyoza starts as soon as she notices Clarke and Roan. It was obvious that someone like Clarke would be an easy target for Diyoza’s shenanigans.

Clarke takes a seat beside the woman, regardless because at least she’s worth a good life and on speaking terms with her. Roan sits across from Clarke, effectively blocking her view of the Gryffindor table. Clarke’s entirely certain that Roan planned it. Murphy ends up scooting down to sit closer to Roan, probably relieved that he’s not the youngest hire in Slytherin.

Murphy smiles suspiciously at Clarke as if he’s planning world domination. Once upon a time, she would have been alarmed by his behavior but at this point, she knows that Murphy is twisted at best, if not a little psychotic. “You two look like you’re up to something fun.”

Roan teases Murphy, the pair have always gotten along because of their love for mischief. “Just a stroll in the Forbidden Forest later.”

“Count me in,” Murphy says immediately, looking positively excited.

Clarke arches a brow in mock-confusion, “I don’t remember inviting you, Murphy. Also, I’m worried your presence might frighten the unicorns.” Of course, she knows that she’s going to let Murphy accompany them. Clarke needs all the friends that she can get.

“Is that your big plan? You’re playing the unicorn card?” Murphy snorts, rolling his eyes in the process. “Typical.”

Roan gives her a pointed look that says _I told you so_, but when he speaks, he’s much kinder. “He does have a point.” Roan pauses to look at the empty plates in front of him with an obvious frown. Clarke already worked out that Kane’s absence equaled an absence of breakfast. Roan continues the conversation with an eye-roll, “Now if you want to really impress them, let’s find an _Erkling_.”

“Oh yes, let’s go find a creature that’s sole purpose is to lure children so it can eat them. I’m sure that will go over swimmingly.” Clarke’s sarcasm only makes Murphy’s grin widen. She’s actually frightened that he thinks an Erkling would be entertaining. Clarke’s always feared them a twinge because of the bedtime stories her parents once read her. Erklings were always used as reminders for magical kids to behave unless they wanted to be made into soup. As an adult, Clarke knew that Erklings didn't even bother with the soup, preferring the meal raw. Much more terrifying. 

Diyoza predictably comments after eavesdropping on their conversation, “I have seen great suffering this year.”

“You see great suffering every year.” Murphy jeers while Diyoza frowns at him. 

“Well, am I wrong?”

“She does have a point,” Roan adds, having always liked Diyoza’s morbid sense of humor. Clarke doubted he respected the subject but for a troublemaker like Roan, Diyoza must have been worth a few good laughs during his time as a student. “Hogwarts isn’t exactly the safest place to send your kids.”

Everyone seems to accept this as a fact, and then Murphy says, “Alright, what if we go and find your run-of-the-mill snake? You could make it do funny tricks.” It wasn’t one of Murphy’s most brilliant ideas, but it was definitely a dangerous one in Clarke’s opinion. The last thing she needed was another scandal, or an over-excited third year tell his _mummy _about his cool new teacher that might be related to a muggle-born hating psychopath.

“You know, the goal is to be well-liked, not accused of being fucking evil, right?” Clarke asked the two men seriously, but they did not give her any reassurance that they wanted to be well-liked by anyone.

Murphy holds up his hands in defense as he starts to speak, “Look, as a Slytherin, I can say that if the Care of Magical Creatures professor could talk to snakes in my day, I would have enjoyed the subject a lot more."

“Yeah, but you would have enjoyed it because of the pure terror, not the educational bit.” Roan corrects with a laugh that sounds vaguely like a snicker.

Countering Murphy, Clarke asks sweetly (and not in a scary way at all), “I could always showcase an Imp. Murphy, are you willing to volunteer?”

“Fuck you, Twinkles.” Clarke’s eyes widen with the use of the old nickname. During their third year, Murphy dared Clarke to become an Animagus because it was illegal and _fun._ By the time that she achieved the feat, she was a fourth-year and Murphy and Clarke had drifted apart due to Clarke’s crush on Bellamy Blake (an absolute rival). In her excitement, Clarke showcased her form as a fluffy, spoiled looking cat, to which Murphy dubbed her Twinkles and went back to walking the line between chaotic good and chaotic evil.

“Professor Murphy, I do hope that you learn to clean up your language before the students arrive,” Kane says, walking by the Slytherin table on his way to the front of the dining hall. It was an odd route to the Headmaster’s spot, but she suspected Kane was checking in on her—or possibly seeing if the group of Slytherins was plotting against the other professors yet. 

“Good morning, everyone. I will be passing out rotation schedules and rosters during breakfast. There will not be any changes in nights or partners for any other reason than mortal danger.” He smirks to himself, “Again, welcome to all of our new hires. I am confident you will hold yourselves to Hogwarts’s standards in both your professional and personal lives. I also—”

“He means you, Roan.” Murphy says under his breath.

“—hope that our long-standing professors lend a hand when needed. There is no such thing as a bad question unless it concerns explosions, possible bodily harm to a professor or student, or the growth of muggle herbs such as marijuana.” Kane stops and smiles at the Hufflepuff table, “Moving forward, the students arrive tonight. I ask that you all wear your most traditional attire. We will meet back here at 6 o’clock sharp. There is a meeting after tonight’s feast to discuss Triwizard Tournament information. If you have any questions, please ask them as I pass out paperwork.” Kane stands there for a full minute, then finally gives the command, “You may eat.”

Roan grunts in distaste, “I haven’t seen that much narcissism since Blake graduated.”

Clarke did not respond.

Murphy agreed as he stuffed food in his mouth.

Breakfast was decent and Clarke was done eating by the time Kane made his way to their group. Before Kane handed Diyoza her paperwork, she said, “I have already seen great chaos with your schedule and fear that it must be redesigned fitting the stars preference.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Kane says dryly and hands them their schedules with a, “Here you are, Clarke…Roan…John. Good luck.” When Diyoza asks for hers, he says, “But I thought you had already seen it, my dear.”

Diyoza cuts her eyes at him, “I see so many visions a day, it is good to have a reminder.”

Clarke reads down her schedule, not paying any mind to the rosters. It seemed that professors were meant to stroll the corridors in pairs these days. Clarke’s duty nights were Monday and Wednesday. Her partner on Monday would be Roan, naturally, and her partner on Wednesday was…none other than Bellamy freaking Blake. Clarke looked up quickly at Kane, who seemed to be waiting for her to say something, “Mortal danger, Clarke. Mortal danger.”

She held her tongue, shoving her schedule in Roan’s direction so he could read it.

When Kane was out of earshot, Roan mumbled, “Sanctimonious bastard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Thank you all for your comments, they really help me stay on board with this story. I have a horrible habit of abandoning work once the enthusiasm dies down so I'm so relieved that this story has been well received. 
> 
> I do have a few question for readers and would really appreciate some FEEDBACK:
> 
> 1\. What has been your favorite moment so far?  
2\. What is one scene that you would like to see in this story?  
3\. What are your predictions?
> 
> Also, fun game: if you can tell me the significance of Kane's password, you get a shout out in the next chapter (which I should have up in a day or two)


	5. Instability & Stables

Chapter 5:

The sun is dipping lower and lower as the afternoon slinks into the early evening. Bellamy is occupying himself with a new book about defense strategies that he bought in Diagon Alley a week ago. At least, that’s what it looks like he’s doing. The trained eye would ascertain that every thirty seconds, he would peek up from his book and squint his eyes in hopes that he would catch _something _dancing on the edge of the Dark Forest—if that something happened to be Clarke Griffin, well, that was just a matter of coincidence. And even if he was searching for Clarke, which he _definitely isn’t, _he would be in the right because she never showed up for lunch.

Professor Nathan Miller was either pretending he wasn’t aware of his friend’s activities, or he was too enthralled by his lesson plans to notice. Every few minutes, Bellamy could hear Miller furiously scratching his quill against the already marked up parchment. History of Magic always had a reputation of being the least entertaining course offered at Hogwarts. Students typically dreaded it unless they were nerds or muggle-born, and even then, after the first few years, the excitement wore off.

Bellamy did not envy Miller’s job.

In truth, Bellamy had it far easier than his friend. Students always wanted to know how to knock each other out in duels and block particularly nasty hexes. All he had to do was show off a Bogart, tell some interesting stories from his limited Auror days and let them stupefy each other. Really, a simple job. Apart from teaching his students how to defend themselves in case another dark wizard ever rose to power, which was just a matter of time.

Bellamy glances at Miller after a series of scratches and a loud groan echoes off the large rocks of Stone Circle. It was an odd place to do work, but Miller hadn’t argued, and Bellamy didn’t need to explain that he _might _be stalking his ex-girlfriend (and her weird, immature, idiotic friends). Miller catches Bellamy’s eye, “I don’t think dear ol’ dad thought this whole thing through.”

Bellamy knew that Miller had become the recent victim of imposter syndrome. After talking with Jasper Jordan and Monty Greene last night—before all the dramatics—he found that most new hires were feeling a little incompetent and wholly unqualified. Jasper, for instance, was terrified that he would catch one of his students on fire during the first class. While that was absolutely a possibility, Bellamy had assured him otherwise.

The only thing bringing solace to Bellamy’s anxiety was the fact that Kane never did anything without a plan. Bellamy grunts, sounding put-off, “I personally think he put an annoying amount of thought into it.”

He watched as Miller dipped into a well of black ink and started to write again. Bellamy finished and finalized his lesson plans weeks ago in an attempt to convince himself that Kane hadn’t resorted to classic nepotism to fulfill the vacant position. Of course, nowhere on those lesson plans had Bellamy written _expect the absolute worst. _

There were two very large hitches in his well-laid plans.

The first being his younger sister.

Octavia Blake will be starting her seventh year later tonight and with that comes its own set of problems. For starters, she’s convinced that she’s going to be a dragon trainer post-graduation. She’s been saying it since she found out that one could get paid to train dragons. Bellamy almost accepted the idea until Roan Azgeda came stumbling back into his life. The last thing he needs his Octavia being mentored by some jackass that can’t keep his hands to himself or off other people’s girlfriends.

Octavia also has a pension for trouble. Kane has been a role-model for impartiality, having issued Octavia detention on more than one occasion. Maybe more than ten occasions. His sister has that classic Blake temper and loves to hex people that piss her off, and when she can’t hex them, she punches them. Bellamy’s just worried something is going to happen to her.

Bellamy’s second problem is Clarke Griffin, which is obvious at this point.

There has been significantly less time to acquaint himself with the idea that his ex-girlfriend, who he’s loved for over half a decade (probably more if he’s being honest with himself, which he’s not) will be teaching at Hogwarts. It doesn’t help that she’s still beautiful and passionate and alluring as ever. It doesn’t help that his chest feels tight when she’s in the same room as him, or that she’s so very focused on avoiding him. That much was evident at breakfast.

It certainly didn’t help that his ego was wounded by the fact that she hadn’t returned for him—even if that made absolutely no sense considering he was the one who ended it. Although, in his defense, that situation was highly complicated. No, Clarke had returned because she had fallen victim to one of Kane’s secretive plots. Not because she missed him, not because she loved him, not because she couldn’t live without him—all sentiments that he had hoped would spark her return months ago.

But she hadn’t returned months ago and now he’s dating someone else. Before last night, he could confidently say that he was happier than he had been in quite some time. Echo is a wonderful person. She was his partner when he was an Auror. It’s fairly serious, too. His mother actually likes her, which can’t be said about Clarke. Aurora has hated Clarke from the moment she met her. Octavia tolerates her just fine. Kane is always nice.

It’s easier with Echo.

Miller sighs, “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask you how you feel about…well, everything. Last night was insane.”

He’s about to admit that his life is in shambles when he sees movement on the edge of the forest. Roan and Murphy walk out, looking as arrogant as ever. Roan seems to be telling a joke, but Bellamy can’t read his lips from this distance. He can tell that Murphy is eating it up, whatever it is because he’s laughing hysterically. Bellamy doesn’t really care about them.

He cares about Clarke.

Bellamy’s heart starts to beat a little faster because _where is she _but then he sees her white-blonde hair at the edge of the forest. Roan looks over his shoulder, smiles at her. Clarke smiles back warmly. Bellamy wants to punch Roan in the face so he can’t smile again. A few moments pass while Roan and Murphy continue to walk away from Clarke, and she lingers at the edge.

Then, he sees why she’s hesitated.

Clarke starts to walk in the opposite direction of the wizards with two young unicorns behind her. He quirks a brow as he watches her talk to them as if she’s talking to people. Distantly, Bellamy recalls that unicorns aren’t too keen on males so Roan and Murphy most likely won’t be around while she walks the unicorns to the stables.

Miller clears his throat, still expecting a response, but he hasn’t looked up from his parchment yet.

“I would love to answer, but I have to go,” Bellamy says cautiously, not trying to raise too much alarm as he slams his book shut and stands up. Unfortunately, Miller’s known him far too long to let it go. His eyebrows are furrowed when he finally pulls himself away from his notes. Bellamy is smoothing out the creases in his tan dress pants, trying to look more respectable before he humiliates himself. 

“What?” Miller asks, checking his watch. “We still have time before we need to get ready.”

Bellamy attempts nonchalance once more as he starts to walk in the direction of the stables. Of course, this really gets Miller’s attention because it’s away from the castle. “Something I’ve got to, uh, handle.”

At this point, his nervously looking back and forth between Clarke’s figure and Miller’s questioning gaze. Eventually, Miller catches on and looks behind the stone he’s been leaning on this entire time. He spots Clarke instantly and lets out a small groan of disappointment, “Seriously?”

Bellamy just shrugs and ducks behind another stone as he departs the circle. He’s not trying to walk too fast because he doesn’t want to startle the unicorns or Clarke, but he’s also not trying to lose sight of her. “Oh, bloody hell, leave her alone, Bellamy!” Miller calls exasperatedly and Bellamy can hear him gathering his papers together in a rush. The next thing he knows, Miller is walking next to him out of breath.

“Can’t do that.” Bellamy's face slips into something resembling a smirk, but it could also be a grimace.

Miller looks positively fed up, “What am I supposed to do, huh?”

“You can distract the guard dog,” Bellamy says, “Make sure I’m not disturbed and all that.”

“You’re truly an idiot.” Miller comments, “Alright, and where would I find them?”

“They just started walking towards the castle. You’ll find them.”

“I hate you.”

xXxXx

Clarke is overjoyed by the prospect of presenting two adolescent unicorns to her students throughout the week. It makes up for the fact that she is currently starving and exhausted. The Forbidden Forest is tough to navigate, it’s even worse after two years of neglectfulness. In her defense, she didn’t think she would be returning to its depths any time soon. Although, one could argue that she would have managed just fine if Murphy and Roan hadn’t confused her with their constant chatter and unhelpful advice.

She’s pleased to find the stables at full functionality because she promised the foals’ mother that their stay would be pleasant and filled with treats and attention—a unicorn spa, as it is. Clarke overextended herself communicating to the herd. Kane summarized her ability to communicate with all creatures as being multi-lingual. He’s got the general idea, but it’s more complex. It’s all inside her head. Clarke can link her mind with another creature and read its thoughts. In turn, she can say what she needs to say to it through that link, although she prefers verbal communication.

Clarke took on too much after not using the “gift” in so long.

Her head is killing her.

She ushers the unicorns into the largest pen available. A few horses are inhabiting the stalls tonight, which is unusual this time of year. Clarke tries not to harp on it because it’s really none of her business. The unicorns follow her lead, trusting her as their mother had. Clarke says quietly, in a soothing voice, “You’ll be taken care of here. I’ll come back later tonight and bring apples and carrots, sound good?” Clarke can feel their happiness in response, as well as their nerves. For some reason, she thinks of her first sleepover at the Jaha mansion and how anxious she was to be away from her parents for the first time.

The memory of Wells takes her by surprise. It’s not something that she cares to harp on because it hurts. Every single day, it hurts. The absence of Wells has defined her personhood, so much so that she feels untamed in reference to her grief. It hides and burrows and snarls at the world through the woman that she is today.

Sarcastic. Bitter. Anxious. Scared.

Clarke blinks back tears for the boy she once knew and tries to repress the memories that threaten to flood her mind. She can’t afford to be vulnerable at Hogwarts, but it’s harder than it was in Griffin’s End. The muggle town didn’t house so many memories or any people that could openly remind her of what she’s done and what she has lost in the process. Clarke could live in her life following a paint-by-numbers routine and avoid overwhelming emotion for days—weeks—at a time.

Not here, though.

Her best efforts of avoidance distract her. Clarke senses movement before she hears it. Within seconds, she’s pulled her wand from her boot and pointed it at the entrance. Clarke’s prepared to blast the intruder across the grounds if she has to, but instead, she finds herself staring into familiar brown eyes. Despite polite protocol, she does not lower her wand. Her grip is instinctual but the wand itself feels foreign in her grasp. For the briefest moment, she wonders if she would be able to curse him with it or if it, like her fast-beating heart, would also betray her.

Bellamy is not afraid of her. He takes his time looking her over, accessing her with a calm indifference that makes her uneasy. Clarke takes a deep breath, trying to gain control of her mind. The unicorns are frightened by Bellamy’s presence and her stance against him. Clarke can feel their fear as if it’s her own. The link is making her head hurt, even more now that she’s actively trying to keep her walls up around Bellamy.

A unicorn lets out a squeal in terror, leading Clarke to finally lower her wand. She hesitates before she slips it into her boot. Clarke kneels and pets the alarmed foals through the opening in the pen gate. She tries her best to pass along reassurance, but she’s barely reassured herself. She whispers lowly, hoping that Bellamy can’t hear from eight feet away, “He won’t harm you. You’re both safe. I promise.” Their fur is soft, almost angelic under her fingers. She feels calmer as she continues to pet them. 

Minutes pass without a word.

Clarke’s fully aware that she’s wasting precious time. The students will be arriving soon and she still needs to get ready for the meeting with Kane. At this rate, she would _just _make it in time if she had a quick bath (which she definitely needs). 

Bellamy clears his throat, “I thought we should talk.”

“Did you, now?” Clarke says evenly in an attempt to sound as unbothered as possible. Unfortunately, an unbothered person doesn’t spend borrowed time petting unicorns like a psychopath. It’s safe to say that Bellamy knows his presence is causing her to freak out. Still, she’s pleased with her response. It was a tough feat considering how much Bellamy affected her, even after all this time. It’s been nearly three years since they’ve had an actual conversation and it stings. She doesn’t wish to speak to him because she isn’t sure what to say—there’s too much resentment and unanswered feelings inside of her mind, and if she’s going to have a decent professional relationship with him, she doubts telling him what an asshat he’s been will help. 

“Clarke.” Bellamy is pleading with her, which is rather uncommon for him. The Bellamy she once knew never begged for anything because of his pride. Well, unless it was in a sexual manner but that’s just because Clarke likes to play—still, besides point.

It doesn’t stop her from blushing as she stands up to full height.

“I would rather we didn’t,” Clarke responds, looking at him once more before averting her eyes to her dirt crusted boots. It’s difficult to meet his stares even if her pride is enraged by her weakness. She should be able to glare at him, make it known how angry and hurt she has been. How could she look into those eyes, though? At one point in time, they were filled with such love and compassion. Now, she only sees lies and blanket concern.

“Talk?” He asks and he sounds amused by her behavior. It must seem odd that a woman who has defeated one of the most powerful wizards in English history can’t make direct eye contact. It must be unusual for him to see her so standoffish. It didn’t use to be in her nature, but time has touched everything around them. Clarke’s sure that he has noticed her blush because he sounds far too confident now.

It feels wrong to her.

Clarke’s response is less steady this time, her words coming out as a whisper, “Pretend. I don’t want to pretend.”

It’s a truthful statement. Clarke and Bellamy have been through too much to pretend with each other. As much as she wants a professional relationship, more so for Hogwarts and Kane’s sake, it’s unjust for them to act like they haven’t been living fractured lives all this time. It’s unfair to overlook everything that’s happened for the sake of artificial peace.

At least, while it’s just them.

If anything, they owe it to each other, to be honest when they are alone.

“I’m not pretending.”

Clarke bites back, finally meeting his eyes, “Then, you’re lying.”

He raises his hands in defense, just as she crosses her arms around her body. The parallel does not evade her. Bellamy speaks to her in the same manner that she spoke to the unicorns, taking cautious steps closer to her until eight feet become three, “I don’t have a problem with you teaching here. I needed to tell you that.”

Clarke huffs, much like a pissed-off cat, “So, you’ve decided to corner me to say that you _don’t_ have a problem?”

A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, and she wants to lash out, but she also wants to—_do things_ she shouldn’t want to do. He asks almost playfully, “Do you feel cornered?”

“I don’t know what to feel right now if we’re not lying or pretending.” Clarke’s tone is flat and it is definitely time for her to leave.

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, looking as deeply confused as her. It’s odd to have a conversation with Bellamy without being able to feel what he’s feeling. Clarke longed to understand his motivations, his words, his meaning, but she couldn’t. It was torture.

“As fun as this has been, I’m going to be late,” Clarke says slowly and waits for him to move out of her way.

He doesn’t. Instead, Bellamy takes the last few steps in her direction until he’s invading her personal space. Like a startled animal, Clarke attempts to step around him. It’s not real fear, just a rush of nerves that she doesn’t want to translate. Still, her fight or flight response is screaming _flight. _Bellamy extends a firm arm, stopping her from side-stepping him. His fingers curl around her waist and Clarke stops breathing completely.

He lowly whispers, “I don’t have a problem with you being here.”

She’s not sure what makes her do it, but Clarke turns her head to look up at him. It’s a rather intimate position, one that she didn’t expect to be in with Bellamy within the next decade or two. Clarke’s very aware that the smallest movement on her part would lead to their lips touching. It’s something that she wants, of course. Its something that the connection in her mind has craved for some time. It’s wrong, though. He doesn’t want her. Bellamy’s made that very clear.

Just as she convinced herself that he’s not interested, Bellamy closes the distance. He is not soft or gentle with her. Bellamy frames her face with his hands, controlling the kiss. Clarke wants to giggle with joy, but she isn’t going to ruin this moment. She doesn’t even gasp when Bellamy slams her against the wooden wall behind her. Clarke opens herself to him, both her mouth and her mind. He greedily accepts, and she can feel his walls tumbling down around them.

The stables start to disappear around her as a wave of dizziness stumbles through her brain. Clarke can feel how much he wants her; it is dancing through her mind. Everything feels warmer, happier, just as it had in the infirmary. Clarke never wants to let go.

Bellamy moves his hands to the back of her thighs, hoisting her up until her legs are firmly wrapped around his waist. It’s a precarious position to be in. Clarke’s thrilled by all the prospects. He deepens the kiss, and Clarke moans into it.

It’s brilliant.

Wonderful.

And then she feels more, hears more, as Bellamy pulls away from her. He’s leaving her again, even though his mouth is still pressed against hers so possessively. Clarke breaks the kiss, and Bellamy looks wrecked. He sets her down, and Clarke feels horror-struck. Bellamy takes a step back, looking as if he’s been physically struck.

“I didn’t mean—Clarke, please.” Bellamy says, and he looks so ashamed, “Your hair is blue, love.”

It takes more concentration than she wants to admit to pull herself together. Her mother would be so disappointed to know that she had lapsed on her most basic training. Abigail was thoroughly embarrassed by Clarke’s metamorphmagus abilities and taught her at an early age to conceal them. After her father died, her hair had turned black for an entire week and Abby had been furious.

It doesn’t help that Bellamy looks so miserable.

He reaches out towards her and Clarke slips away, tears pricking her eyes. Clarke runs as soon as she knows she’s out of eyesight. Distantly, she hears Bellamy cuss in frustration.

Clarke doesn’t even try to apologize to the unicorns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Life got in the way last week and I'm so sorry I couldn't stick with my update schedule. 
> 
> What was your favorite part of this chapter? What's something you want to see in the future? Should Clarke tell Roan what happened? Should Bellamy tell Echo?


End file.
